i.
dear cosmonaut,
some days
i am in love with you.
some days
i am in love with you
and i ache in every language i know
and a thousand i don't;
your name spilling from
constellations like some
pure wor(l)d built
elysium.

ii.
there are days
i am ador(n)ed
by the skin of those
who matter
when kindness blisters
and it burns;
i am spitfire conflagrations
and no respite, no shelter
when comfort is the
flame
you fly from.

iii.
in the between
moments
i am paused
floating lonesome
interstellar satellites
in orbit;
these are days
that feel like all days
and none
and i cry out to believe
i am. not broken,
yet sacred and longing
sca(r)red, and
wanting.
you,
perhaps.

iv.
dear cosmonaut,
some days
you are everything;
but the sun
must always
set.